


an agent's weakness

by PurificoDive



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Kingsman AU, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, i wrote this in 9 hours holy shit, no sumo was harmed in the writing of this fic, why does hank remind me of champagne from tgc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurificoDive/pseuds/PurificoDive
Summary: Written as part of the Convin Challenge — Day 9; “AU.”Connor is a Kingsman candidate, proposed by Agent 200, Hank Anderson, himself. Gavin Reed, Agent 400, is an agent with a bad temper.AKA:A Kingsman AU in which Connor learns to express his emotions through his relationship with Sumo, and Agent 400 is along for the ride.





	an agent's weakness

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so because this is from connor’s pov, there’ll be a lot of numbers. gavin is agent 400, hank is agent 200; connor will often think of them as 400 and 200 respectively.

When first tasked with choosing a puppy, Connor falters for the first time in _years_ . He knows, _of course he knew_ , that he’d have to pick a dog; he just thought he’d be better at not getting attached.

He chooses the smallest, obviously the runt of its litter. A St. Bernard.

Connor refuses to name the dog; he waits until Hank — Agent 200 and Connor’s mentor — drops by and proceeds to shove the dog into his arms.

“I can’t name it,” is all Hank gets as a greeting. The older man raised an eyebrow, taking the St. Bernard into his arms. Connor didn’t take note of the fact that Hank’s shirt is rumpled and covered in dried blood. It wasn’t his primary mission.

“Why not?”

Connor thinks Hank is used to how he works, these days. Looking around, he leans in close to 200’s face. The dog licks at his cheek, but he pays it no mind.

“Naming leads to getting attached. Getting attached leads to emotions.” Connor draws his eyebrows together, biting at the inside of his cheek.

Hank laughs, Connor smells alcohol. He stays quiet for now; Hank has made it very clear that if Connor cares too much about his habits, he’ll grow emotions. Regardless, something in Connor’s stomach flips.

“Okay, then,” Hank holds the small dog up to his face. “A St. Bernard, huh?” Hank makes a long, drawn out hum. “Tiny little thing, isn’t it?” Connor assumes that Hank is analysing the dog, coming up with a suitable name. “A boy,” he notes, a grin spilling onto his face.

Connor stands, hands folded behind his back.

Waiting.

“Sumo.”

Connor jumps. “What?”

“That’s his name,” Hank declares, holding the dog back out for Connor to take. “Sumo.”

Connor tilts his head. “Are you sure that’s a satisfactory name for a dog, 200?”

“Look, kid, you asked me to name him; that’s what I’m naming him.”

Connor nods.

He calls him Sumo.

* * *

 

Connor fails his mission to not get attached to Sumo.

He assumed he would be fine, considering he isn’t the one that named the dog.

The St. Bernard starts off tiny, just slightly bigger than one of Connor’s hands. But, predictably, he doesn’t stay that small for long. Two weeks later finds Sumo bigger than both of Connor’s hands put together.

After four days in Connor’s company, Sumo takes to sleeping on top of Connor’s chest.

Connor doesn’t mind; even when Agent 200 finds him one day and shows him a picture of just how big a St. Bernard can get when fully grown. Connor assures Hank that Sumo won’t grow to the full extent of a St. Bernard, due to his status as the runt of the litter.

Even though Connor knows that, even a _small_ St. Bernard is _big_ and _heavy_. Maybe, one day, Sumo will be capable of breaking his ribs.

Connor lets him sleep there anyway.

* * *

 

He tries to not let anyone know _just_ how attached he’s gotten to Sumo.

It works, for a while.

Agent 200 gets injured while on a mission, so Connor finds himself by Hank’s bedside more often than not.

He sits on the floor, of all places, with Sumo; the St. Bernard is too big by now to sit on Connor’s lap while he’s in a chair. So, he settles for the floor, where Sumo can flop down onto his lap.

Connor is grinning, an expression he doesn’t let flick onto his face very often, as he runs his hands through Sumo’s fur. He scratches behind his ears and under his chin.

Connor loves this dog _so much_.

He thinks Sumo can read his thoughts, when the dog stands up and places his front paws on Connor’s shoulders. Sumo’s nose digs into his temple, and Connor’s temple is wet with dog saliva in seconds.

He laughs, trying not to be too loud; he’s only been given permission to be here on the condition that he doesn’t interrupt Agent 200’s recovery.

“Sumo,” he whispers through his laughter, “we’ll wake Hank up if you get too exc—”

He cuts himself off when he hears a voice on the other side of the door, getting Sumo’s collar in a loose grip when the handle turns.

“Fuckin’ waste of goddamn time,” the voice is gruff and quiet, obviously not expecting to walk into the room to be faced with Connor and his dog sitting on the floor. The newcomer looks up from the floor, eyes landing on Connor instantly, expression instantly transforming into a sardonic smirk. “Oh, fuckin’ _golden_ ; Hank’s fuckin puppy.”

He recognises the face in an instant.

“Agent 400,” Connor greets, running his hands through Sumo’s fur to keep himself grounded.

“Robo-Candidate,” 400 returns, his upper lip curling in obvious disgust. He doesn’t even try to hide it. His eyes, narrowed in a glare, flick from Connor to Sumo, and a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Who’d have thought that the emotionless piece of trash has a soft spot for dogs?”

And that? That is how Connor met Agent 400, Gavin Reed.

“Sumo is an integral asset to completing my mission, Agent,” Connor replies, tone level and void of all emotion.

“Sumo?” 400 barks out a laugh, closing the door behind him with little care. “What the fuck kinda name is that?”

“Agent 200 picked it out.” Connor doesn’t feel the need to justify anything to Agent 400, but he still responds. He wants to narrow his eyes at the agent.

“Of fuckin’ course he did.” Connor watches as the agent rolls his eyes. “Anyway, up off your ass.” _How eloquent, Agent 400_ . “Next task, you get the _honor_ of being taken there by me, since your sponsor—” he waves in the direction of Hank, unconscious in the bed, “—is currently indisposed.”

Connor can’t help but feel as though Agent 400 is being sarcastic with him; his voice takes on a posh accent and the tone is _off_. Regardless, he’s Connor’s superior.

“Of course, Agent 400,” Connor nods, guiding Sumo carefully from his lap and standing from the floor. He brushes down the candidate uniform, full of St. Bernard fur.

“Fuckin’ creep,” he hears the Agent 400 mutter from across the room. He ignores the comment, assuming  by the low volume that it wasn’t directed at him.

Instead, he turns to Sumo and digs his hands into his fur again, scratching behind his ears. “Be good, Sumo; take care of Hank.” In response, Connor gets a lick to the hand. Then, he turns to face Agent 400, who has an expression on his face that Connor can’t quite pinpoint.

“Weak to _dogs_ , of all goddamn fuckin’ things—” Connor blinks, ignoring the comment that sounds more amused than pissed off, but following the agent from the room nonetheless.

* * *

 

Hank recovers well, letting Sumo rest on the bed whenever Connor visits him in the medical bay while Connor will recount how his training has been going. As soon as he mentions Agent 400, Hank’s expression darkens.

“Reed?”

“Indeed; he was tasked with showing me the next task, as you were still unconscious,” Connor’s eyebrows are pulled together as he recounts the experience. “He seemed incredibly interested in my relationship with Sumo.” Connor doesn’t tell Hank that Agent 400 had _also_ enquired as to Connor’s _relationship_ with Hank

“Who fuckin’ knew?”

“However, Agent 400 did seem to dislike me an incredible amount; I’m still unsure why.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Hank says, pushing himself up against the pillows and dropping a hand into Sumo’s fur. “Gavin’s not really nice to _anyone_.”

Connor looks at his lap, lips pursed in confusion.

* * *

 

The first time Connor is faced with Agent 400 after their initial meeting is when Connor goes to visit Hank in the medical bay. He pushes open the door to find Hank with a dark expression, glaring at the floor. Following the glare, Connor blinks a few times.

Agent 400 sits on the floor, much like Connor had been when they’d first become acquainted, and Sumo is flopped on top of his form.

“Apologies if I’m interrupting, Agents,” Connor starts, sending a questioning glance over towards Hank, who just shakes his head and beckons Connor over with a wave of his hand.

“I tried to get Sumo to attack him, but he just went over for a fuss,” Hank laughs, obviously more comfortable now that he isn’t alone with Agent 400. 200’s voice lowers to a whisper as he continues, “Reed’s in a weirdly decent mood today, though.” Connor nods as he settles himself on the end of Hank’s bed, watching the scene on the floor while some kind of led block settles itself in his stomach.

Connor clears his throat, folding his hands in his lap. “Agent 400, is there something my dog can assist you with?”

“Hm? Nah, I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about; the fuck’s this dog got that literally _no one else_ has?”

Connor blinks, tilting his head. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been apathetic as _fuck_ since you got here,” Agent 400 starts, rubbing his hands into the fur around Sumo’s neck. “Never cracked a goddamn _smile_ , for fucks sake; they give you this pile o’ fur,” he leans his head on top of Sumo’s ears, “and you’ve smiled more than even your own _goddamn brother’s_ ever seen.”

Connor’s breath hitches in his throat.

Of course; he’d forgotten his brother was an agent, too.

His hands curl into fists where they sit in his lap as he pushes down that feeling of _inadequacy_.

“I—” He clears his throat. Takes a deep breath in, eyes flicking over to Hank on his right and back down to his lap. “Sumo’s presence is comforting,” he explains shortly, keeping his eyes focused on his fingers. “More often than not, people have… Pre-constructed expectations…” His brother’s face flashes in his mind. “... About _how_ they expect me to be.” He isn’t sure why he’s explaining it; he knows he could have gotten away with telling the Agent that it was _none of his business_.

His eyes flick to his left, where Agent 400 sits with Sumo. He doesn’t expect to find the Agent’s eyes focused on him, only idly stroking the St. Bernard’s coat. Connor brings his eyes back to his hands, presses the pads of his fingers together.

“Obviously, my emotional capacity isn’t as… _Advanced_ as most people…” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Sometimes, it’s nice to just—”

“Nice to have someone that doesn’t judge?”

400’s voice is soft, something he’s never _ever_ thought of coming from the man.

For as long as Connor’s been a candidate, Agent 400 has been gruff, harsh, _angry_.

Connor smiles down at his lap.

* * *

 

Fowler — _King_ , Connor reminds himself — looks him straight in the eye, not two days later, presses the handgun into his palm, and leans back in his seat. Hands are folded in his lap, legs crossed, and Connor is speechless.

He knows he’s an impressive candidate; he’s been training for this his whole life. He was raised with one goal in mind: become an Agent, follow orders, kill whoever needs to be taken out. He’s been trained to keep his emotions in check, which he knows makes him seem to be completely emotionless.

“Shoot the dog, Connor,” King states, expression carefully blank.

Connor blinks.

Eyes flick from the gun in his hand to Sumo, who sits in front of him panting.

He hasn’t fed him yet.

He planned on feeding him after their meeting with King.

But, Connor needs to accomplish his mission.

 _It’s what he’s been prepared for_.

He raises the gun, looking at Sumo rather than the pistol in his hand.

Connor loves Sumo.

He hates himself for getting attached.

He takes the shot.

He _always_ accomplishes his mission.

It’s silent for a few moments; Connor counts the seconds.

He doesn’t see anything — when did he close his eyes?

All Connor can hear is his own breathing, or lack thereof.

He can’t _breathe_.

He accomplished his mission, so _why can’t he breathe_?

“What the fuck?”

He hears someone speak, but it sounds like he’s underwater.

“You’re still doing this _fucking_ test?”

Connor thinks he blinks, so _why can’t he see_?

“Hank’d kill you if he were here, y’realise that, right?”

There’s a pressure on his right hand, the hand that’s still got a grip on the gun.

There’s a pressure on his shoulder, too.

The pistol is pried from his grip, and a warm hand grips his hand instead.

It’s warm, but calloused.

“Hey, Connor—”

That’s him. _He’s Connor_.

“Breathe with me, asshole.”

The pressure leaves his shoulder and makes its way to his left hand. Then, that hand is being pressed against something solid.

A chest.

He can feel a heartbeat.

The beat is slightly more rapid than it should be.

He tries to focus on it; on the rise and fall of the chest as _whoever_ this is breathes in and out in controlled breaths.

Connor tries his best to match the breathing.

In through his nose.

1…

2…

3…

Out through his mouth.

“Okay, you’re good, keep going.”

In.

…

Out.

“Okay, now open your eyes.”

He blinks. Once, twice, three times. With each blink, his vision clears slightly.

Agent 400 stands in front of him, one hand gripping Connor’s right, the other holding Connor’s left against his own chest. There’s an expression on his face that Connor _can’t quite place_.

The man in front of him breathes out; they’re so close that Connor can feel the exhale on his own face.

“Thank _fuck_.”

Connor blinks.

 _Sumo_.

400 must see something telling in his expression, because the next time Connor blinks, 400 is moving to the side.

And, then, Connor’s vision is blurry.

400 lets go of his hands as he leans forwards, falls to his knees, and pulls Sumo close.

* * *

 

Agent 200 appears sometime later, while Connor is still holding the St. Bernard close to his chest.

“The _fuck_ happened, Reed?” Hank’s demanding voice is heard seconds before the door slams open. “I get a call, _while out on a mission_ , that only says ‘ _Connor’s freaking out_ ’. That could mean fucking _anything_!”

Connor feels the pause in the room; he can only assume it’s when Hank sees the state he’s in.

“Fucker’s still doing the ‘dog test’, apparently.” An angry sigh. “Even though he hasn’t done it in _years_.”

“Fucking—” The door slams closed. “Asshole!”

There are a tense few minutes, the only sounds in the room are Hank’s angry sighs of frustration and Connor’s still ragged breathing. Agent 400 is oddly silent from where he’s sat in the chair Connor previously occupied. Connor can feel the warmth of his legs, one of the agent’s feet pressed against his calf in what Connor assumes to be a comforting manner.

It helps.

Then, a hand is pressing itself into his back.

“Y’alright, Connor?”

It’s Agent 200, of course it is; the hand is warm in a way that Agent 400’s isn’t, broader than any hand Connor’s ever felt. For the first time in what feels like forever, Connor brings his face out of Sumo’s fur and glances over at 200. He wants to compose himself; these are his _superiors_ , he’s supposed to be able to keep his cool.

He swallows, nodding his head, keeping silent.

“Don’t listen to him,” 400’s voice comes from behind him, “fucker’s lying.”

“... This whole thing was a stupid idea,” Connor mutters to Sumo, hands gripping the longer parts of the dog’s fur. Places that won’t pull.

“I mean, in any case, you passed the test…” 400 utters with a laugh.

“You fuckin’ _laughin_ , Reed?” Hank’s being defensive, now. Then, “where’d Fowler run off to?”

“Eh, practically _ran_ when I asked him what the _fuck_ he was doing.”

“Can I go home?” Connor _needs_ to leave. “I need—”

There’s silence. There’s _too much silence_ today. He assumes a silent conversation is being held above his head.

“I got some _shit_ to take care of,” Hank states, annoyance still coating his tone. “Reed’ll take you to his, for now.”

Connor doesn’t feel like arguing. Agent 400 seems to have already accepted it, as no argument comes from him.

Hank assures Connor that he’ll call him later.

Connor won’t hold his breath.

* * *

 

When Connor tries to thank Agent 400 for letting him come over to his house — apartment, actually — he’s interrupted by the Agent letting out a sharp exhale.

“Just call me by my name, for cryin’ out loud,” is what he says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “400 this, 400 that; you can call Hank by _his_ name.”

“Sometimes, I still call him 200,” is Connor’s retort. He can feel the question before 400 asks it. “I don’t _feel_ right, it feels incredibly disrespectful.”

“Well, you passed,” 400 — _Gavin_ — responds, a grin evident in his tone. “So, now we’re on the same level of authority.”

“I… Suppose so.” The whole thing is still uncomfortable; Connor doesn’t want to even _think_ about it for a few days, at least.

Before the conversation can continue, the car comes to a sharp stop. At Gavin’s beckoning, they pile out, Sumo stopping them on the way to the complex to cock his leg up against the wall. They climb the stairs to the third floor, Gavin only looking back to tell Connor to be careful.

Connor nods, still feels strange. As though he’s… _Floating_.

 _Shock_ , his mind provides. He’s still in shock.

He trails after Gavin, following him into his apartment and closing the door behind him.

He stands, pressed against the door. Sumo nudges the back of his knee with his nose, but all Connor can bring himself to do is let the back of his hand sit between Sumo’s ears.

“The fuck you doin’?”

“I—” Connor feels his eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know.” It’s an admission he’s never had to make; Connor has _always_ had a mission. A goal. Something to strive towards.

Right now? He can’t think of _any_ of them.

“All right,” Gavin sighs — he’s doing that a lot tonight — and Connor feels a hand wrap around his wrist, pulling him forward. “Here’s what you need to do.” They walk through the front porch and into the living room. “You’re gonna get changed; I put clothes in the bathroom.” The hand around his wrist tightens slightly. “Then you’re gonna come sit on my couch, with me and your dog, and we’re gonna watch shitty romcoms until Anderson calls.” Gavin stops, and Connor walks into his back. The hand on his wrist is gone, but now there’s a hand in his hair. “This is the bathroom; I’ll wait out here with the dog.”

Connor thinks he nods, thankful that he has… Goals. He wonders if Gavin _knew_ how Connor worked; he knows Gavin works with his brother, sometimes.

Not a thought process he needs to start with. He shakes it out of his head.

When he leaves the bathroom, dressed in clothes that are too big for him — they’d even be too big for Gavin — Agent 400 is, true to his word, stood outside with Sumo, running a hand through his fur.

“Good, you’re finished.” A hand circles his wrist again and tugs him lightly in the direction of the couch.

Gavin sits down, gesturing at the open space next to him with his head. Connor complies, sits down, and pats his thigh as an invitation for Sumo.

The dog jumps up, laying himself across both of their laps. Connor’s free hand automatically goes to Sumo’s back, feeling some of the knot in his stomach loosen itself.

“How y’feelin?”

Connor starts to nod, an automatic response. Then, he shakes his head.

“Thought so,” Gavin huffs out a breath, pulling Connor closer and threading fingers into his hair.

Connor is speechless. He’s not sure he can get used to this type of comfort from the agent. He thinks, maybe, he’ll wake up tomorrow and find out that the whole day has been a dream.

For now, he’ll relish the warm feeling that’s spreading in his chest.

He leans further into Gavin’s side, hand leaving Sumo’s fur to rest across a stomach that is _definitely_ more toned than his own. His head presses close to Gavin’s chest, finding comfort in the _badump_ , _badump_ , _badump_ of his heart.

He closes his eyes, focusing on the warmth surrounding him. Sumo’s warmth across his legs is a constant reminder that the St. Bernard is _absolutely fine_. Gavin’s solid form is a comfort that Connor loses himself in.

His last waking thought, as Gavin flicks the TV on, is that Agent 400 actually smells really nice.

In the morning, Gavin tells him that Hank called at 3am.

**Author's Note:**

> there were a lot of different aspects i wanted to explore, but i didn't want it to be a million pages long. 
> 
> let me know if you're interested in seeing more for this au, because i'd _love_ to write more.


End file.
